I'm the Only Woman at My IT Job and Now I Know Why
I was fresh out of college and desperately looking to start a career that didn’t involve serving burgers, wiping down storefront shelves, or bringing stuffy old businessmen their coffee. On average, I was applying to six jobs a week and going to maybe half as many interviews. I knew my major in English wasn’t likely to be met with high demand, but I honestly thought my options would prove more promising. Still, I remained optimistic, persevered, and only applied to comfortable office jobs with benefits. It wasn’t good for my bank account, but it nourished what little pride I had left. About three weeks ago, I had a phone interview with an internet security company. Proficient Technologies had offices all over the country and were looking for a new customer support specialist for their international department. Requirements were a pleasant voice, good spoken and written grammar, some tech-knowledge, and the ability to work day and night shifts. The office was only two subway stations from my apartment, and they offered health insurance. I applied despite having very vague notions about computer sciences. The phone interview went well and after two more meetings with HR and management, they sent me a very generous offer (considering I was entirely inexperienced). During my first week, I had to work the regular 9-5 shift so I could be online at the same time as my manager, who was working from a different city. Afterward, I would work on the regular support schedule - a four-day cycle of one day shift, one night shift, two days off (9 am - 9 pm and 9 pm - 9 am respectively). On my first day, I dressed smartly in a loose sweater and long skirt. Perceptively aware that IT departments are mostly male, I didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention by dressing provocatively or inappropriately. The guy at the front desk seemed regular enough. He introduced himself as Tom before helping me fill out some paperwork and guiding me to a desk in the large open-plan workspace. I stared at the countless desks as we walked, finding it difficult to meet the eyes of the men that sat behind them. I saw no other girls in the workspace, which was unusual and somewhat unsettling. Tom’s relaxed demeanor could not make up for the immediate hostility aimed at my presence. The air seemed to seep out of the room as I felt my new coworkers chant ‘you don’t belong here’ in silent unison. It surprised me when Tom stopped at a desk that was extensively decorated with printed memes, bright pink floral stickers, and a small tattered teddy keychain that lay behind the monitor. Apart from these artifacts, there was a thick layer of dust coating the keyboard, monitor, and desk space. ‘Oh, what the actual...’, Tom muttered angrily. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, chancing a quick glance down at my papers. ‘...Gemma. This desk was supposed to have been cleared ages ago. I’ll have to have a word with the custodian.’ ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ I answered. ‘I could just wipe it down myself, no problem.’ Tom was skeptical, but a sweeping glance around the room confirmed that there were no other free desks for me to occupy. The rest of the day went by in a haze. I learned about my tasks, which were to answer support related phone calls and create new tickets in the system. I had to monitor all incoming chats and written tickets and sort them by level of urgency and type. I wouldn’t be required to offer any technical advice, but I had to become well acquainted with the product software. Since I wasn’t answering any calls yet, I immersed myself in the manual. I didn’t understand a lot of it and spent most of my time googling networks, black and white box testing, database security, and other things. My manager checked in just before lunch and seemed slightly disappointed by my overall grasp of the material. Feeling like a failure, I took a break to clean the desk. I got up to find Tom and ask him for a cloth for my countertop. I instantly regretted my decision. Every eye in the room was upon me the moment I rose. I couldn’t stare back to confirm, but there was a surreal hush as I made my way back down the workspace. The familiar clatter of keyboards had noticeably diminished, as my face grew warm and self-conscious. I noticed myself hunching forward slightly as I walked, a weak attempt at becoming less visible. Before turning off to the passage that led to the front desk area, I dared to meet the eyes of one of the shameless gawkers. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the sight of a sneering hooded programmer sent a chill down my spine. He was around my age but didn’t seem the least bit ashamed or uncomfortable by my confrontation. There was a cruel smile playing on his thin lips as he eyed my exposed ankles before turning his attention back to the screens in front of him. I wondered how he would feel if I eyed his long, pimpled neck in the same manner. It was the same as I walked back to my chair with a box of computer wipes. There was some good to come of that day. While I was cleaning the desk drawers, I found a half-used notebook from the previous occupant. She never wrote her first name, only an initial followed by a last name: S. Brooks. However, based on the desk decor, I was sure she was a girl like me. Her discarded belongings provided some comfort, but it was her notebook which proved to be a true treasure. In it, my predecessor had summarized and simplified the entire manual, using easy-to-understand terms and explanations for the daunting terminology and complicated instructions in the manual. With her help, I was able to surprise my manager with my product knowledge at the end of the shift. After a good day’s work, I braved the workspace once more to explore the kitchen before heading home. Tom had advertised a top-notch coffee machine and snacks, and I was starving after such an emotionally and intellectually taxing day. Besides, all my credit cards were in the red, and I wanted to fill up on cookies. As I approached, I heard eager chatter coming from the kitchen area and even some laughter. Foolishly, I hoped that my kitchen-dwelling coworkers would be warmer, more welcoming, or, at the very least civil. Instead, the small kitchen space fell perfectly silent upon my entrance. There were five men of different ages and sizes seated around a cheap-looking cafeteria table, and they were all looking directly at me. ‘Rough first day?’ inquired a sardonic, medium-pitched voice. I lifted my gaze from the floor tiles and scanned the crowd for my addresser. It wasn’t difficult to recognize the self-assured hooded figure that had stared me down earlier. ‘You must be very experienced,’ he continued snarkily, waving a strand of greasy black hair from his eyes. ‘To get such a comfortable job. You must be quite the whiz.’ ‘What is this, high school?’ I blurted out. Now, I’m not usually a confrontational person, but this was honestly too much. Hostility is one thing, social awkwardness another, but this was beginning to feel like a cheesy 80s high school drama with thirty-year-old actors playing teenagers. ‘I’m just here to grab some coffee and if you doubt my candidacy for this job, you can take your concerns to HR directly.’ I continued, enjoying the shocked and somewhat nervous faces of my offender’s gang. Good, I wanted them to feel a fraction of the discomfort I had been dealing with all day. Opting to enjoy my snack far away from my coworkers, I walked back to my desk with my head held high and a mug of coffee. Right as I was about to sit and enjoy my frothy treat, I saw I had a text message from a withheld number: You have quite an attitude, don’t you? I froze, hovering over my desk with the mug in one hand and my phone in the other. As I was attempting to process this grave breach of boundaries, I received two more messages within the same chat window. One was a naked photograph that I had sent my first serious college boyfriend. The second read: Why don’t you take that photo to HR? Obviously, I was deeply unsettled by this invasion of my privacy. The shame crept in, and I felt angry about drawing so much unwanted attention to myself. This was all my fault. I had come to work in an office full of ethical hackers with a very common dog name as a password. No doubt the photograph had made the rounds thanks to my gross coworker, and I was now the silent laughingstock of the office. Leaving my coffee untouched, I signed off and headed home, holding off the waterworks until I reached the safety of the subway. I couldn’t stop crying for most of that night, turning the day's events over in my mind, feeling sick every time I imagined my coworkers leering at my naked body. At around 3 am, however, I realized that there was no sense in continuing the pity party. I had to come up with a plan of action if I was going to survive this workplace. Quitting was not an option because the pay they were offering me was far too good to pass up. Besides, I was literally living off scarcely more than a slice of pizza a day. My second option was going to HR, but there was no way I was going to open that can of worms. I couldn’t prove who had sent me those messages. Last option? Stick with it, keep my head down, do the job they hired me for, and ignore all further harassment attempts. So that’s what I did. Throughout my week of training, I came in to work on time, never leaving my desk except to go to the bathroom. I avoided contact with everyone and kept my eyes drawn to inanimate objects only. Thanks to S. Brooks, I kept on top of my training. For every new task from my manager, there was a corresponding entry in her notebook. There were no more horrible texts or face-to-face confrontations, but there was something else that stirred my anxieties afresh. Last Friday was my final day of training, which brought me to the last entry in the notebook. Night Shift Survival Guide - sleep during the day before shift and don’t fall asleep - don’t let anyone in - keep pepper spray near - check every aisle, meeting room. don’t forget to check under desks, balcony, kitchen tables, behind cooler - have skype open with credit for emergencies in case of disabled mobile service - check-in with friend/family/lover every hour The list made little sense. Firstly, HR made it clear that I was allowed to sleep between 2-5 am, provided I kept the office smartphone nearby. They even had a pullout couch in one of the conference rooms for this purpose. Secondly, the entire job was answering calls, so there would always be a way to call from the office phone, right? Lastly, the measures outlined in the ‘guide’ seemed excessive and paranoid. Perhaps the list was satirical? Maybe this Brooks girl felt just as awkward as I did with all the silent, leering male coworkers? Though my brain worked hard to rationalize this list of precautions, a nagging feeling in my gut told me I was missing something crucial. It came to me as I was leaving work on Friday, my last day of training. ‘Tom,’ I approached him timidly. ‘Could I ask you a question?’ ‘Sure thing,’ he responded, smiling warmly; his pleasant features a far cry from those of the sullen men in the main room. ‘I was just wondering why I haven’t seen any of the other customer support agents. I mean, there should be at least another three people to cover the four-day rotation cycle?’ ‘You have to ask your manager about that. Most likely they’re scattered across the country. Pretty normal for that to be the case,’ he replied, already dismissing me as he went back to his final tasks of the week. ‘Was there an agent who worked here before me?’ I continued, eager to learn more about the girl that filled the notebook I’d been using all week. ‘Yes, another girl held your position for a short while,’ Tom said, still looking at his screen, though I noticed he had stopped typing or moving his mouse. He was staring pointedly at a single spot behind his monitor. ‘Tom,’ I narrowed my eyes. ‘Who is the guy who works at the desk that’s just at the turnoff into the main working space? Pale complexion, skinny, dark curly hair,’ I said, waving a finger at my temple, poorly imitating curly locks. ‘Ah, that’s Sam,’ Tom replied, noticeably attentive to my line of inquiry. ‘Any reason you’re asking? Has he been bothering you?’ ‘No,’ I said, rather more dismissively than I felt. ‘Have a good weekend, Tom.’ ‘See ya,’ he said, watching me questioningly as I left. All weekend I mulled over the events of my first week at work. It felt as though Tom wasn’t telling me something important. There was no reason for him to grow so tense at the mention of the girl who had worked there before me. Could someone have complained about Sam before? Could it have been S. Brooks? Was Sam the reason for the survival guide in the notebook? Why did she quit? A million theories disturbed my weekend lounging. Before I knew it, it was time to go back to work. This is where we’ve almost caught up to present events. Yesterday was Monday, the first regular day shift. It passed in a blur, as I frantically answered the phone, recording, sorting, and assigning dozens of customer complaints in our system. It took getting used to, and by the end of the day, I was absolutely exhausted. Just as I was signing off, I received another ominous text from an unknown number. You’re such a hard worker. Can’t wait to see you take on night shift. Now, this was the first text to fill me with true fear. I quickly looked around to see if Sam was still at work so I could confront him for sending the message, but he had already left for the day. After calming myself down, I headed home and tried to find S. Brooks online. My best bet was LinkedIn, and I looked through all the women that had Proficient Technologies listed on their profiles (they were suspiciously few). Finding nothing, I looked through Tom’s list of friends and finally found what I was looking for. There was a girl by the name of Sierra Brooks listed as unemployed. I sent a friend request with a message introducing myself and asking her if she had ever been harassed by one of her previous coworkers. Finally, feeling like I was getting somewhere, I went to bed and braced myself for the next day’s events. I decided there were some upsides to the irregular work schedule when I got to sleep in on Tuesday. I checked my LinkedIn soon after waking up at around 1 pm. There were no signs of activity from Sierra, so I went about getting ready for my first night shift at the office. I was a little nervous, but mostly excited to get to know my place of work more intimately. Without the day crowd, I was free to walk around the space, binge on cookies, spit in Sam’s mug, whatever! There were still a few late workers when I arrived for my shift, but I didn’t pay much attention to them as I had a lot of calls and chats to deal with. Two hours in, however, the stream of calls, chats, and incoming tickets began to wind down, until they stopped altogether at around 11 pm. I leaned back in my chair and surveyed the workspace. There was no one left at the office as far as I could see. All the lights were on, but as I took off my headphones, I heard a low jingling melody playing from somewhere. It sounded like a Christmas carol, but it was hard to tell where it was coming from. There was no reason for this to scare me, but I felt the hairs on my arms prick up in alarm. As I got up from my chair, the melody ceased. Now, I’ve freaked out over less in the past. I once thought a man was following me at night until he walked right past me to the corner store ahead. Although I lived alone, I’d always double and triple check my locks before bed. I had to admit that my fears were probably unwarranted. Someone had left their headphones connected to their computer with the music turned up. Or maybe there was an office party for a different company downstairs. Hearing music is only scary in strategically written horror flicks, right? Right? Rationalizing aside, I checked the office to make sure I was actually alone. Walking through the aisles of connected desks, I realized how lucky I was to have my secluded corner spot. I might not have been able to handle such close quarters with any of my unpleasant coworkers. Checking all the rows, I went back to the front desk area, lingering over Tom’s desk, inspecting his belongings in search of clues. Finding nothing of interest, I went back through the main room to the kitchen. My nerves were already easing up, and I found myself spending more time taste-testing cookies rather than looking for potential fiends behind curtains. I had to stop indulging mid-cookie, however, because the sound of the melody came back while I was in the kitchen, louder this time. At the same time, my work smartphone (which we had to carry around us if we left our post) buzzed with a text message from a random number. Finally got to the cookies, huh? My entire body stiffened as I processed the implications. It was probable that Sam had not left the office and was now screwing with me. I pricked up my ears and listened carefully. There was no one in the kitchen as far as I could see or hear. Also, if Sam was in the main workspace, it wouldn’t be difficult to guess that I was eating cookies. Breathing out slowly, I ignored the melody to see if I could hear anything else. Nothing. Slowly, I walked to the kitchen drawers and found a large knife. Did I know how to use a knife? No. Would my wild jabs ward off an unarmed opponent? Definitely. I was about to head into the workspace when a call came in on the work phone. I positioned myself safely against a kitchen wall, knife in hand, before answering with the standard customer support greeting. There was static on the other end, some clanking noises, followed by complete silence. Glancing at the phone, I saw that it had switched off. I tried to start it up again, but it wouldn’t turn on. Great, now I had to make it back to my computer in case any more calls came in. I remembered Sierra’s guide as I was slipping the dead device back in my pocket. - have skype open with credit for emergencies in case of disabled mobile service Had this happened to her as well? The instructions in the notebook made a lot more sense, and I cursed myself out loud for being so ill-prepared. As soon as the words escaped my mouth, there was another ominous bing from the phone. I pulled it out and tried to unlock it, but the regular home screen didn’t come up. All that came up was a white screen with a short bit of text on it. Tut tut. Ladies really shouldn’t use that sort of language. As soon as I read it, the screen cleared and more text appeared. Why don’t you come out and play?Don’t bother taking that knife with you.It won’t do much against my gun. I threw the phone across the room and dashed to my computer. The melody grew louder as I approached my desk, finding a pink stuffed pig toy. There was a fabric button on its left hoof with a music note on it. This was the source of the music and proved without a shadow of a doubt that there was someone else in the office. What’s more, they were watching my every move and actively trying to scare me with children's toys. Panic coursed through my body, gearing up for fight or flight. I took a deep breath, attempting to lull my nervous system. So far I had heard no signs of anyone moving around the office. There were some background city noises coming from outside and the rhythmic hum of computers that someone forgot to shut off. If my stalker was moving around, I would need to pinpoint their location to plan my escape. Also, I had to get help. Fast. Moving the toy aside, I sat down in my chair and pulled up the Skype for Business application. I quickly dialed 911, putting the stationary phone on speaker. The dial tone was brief, and there was a live operator on the other end within moments. I was about to give a very hasty account of events when someone grabbed my ankle from underneath the desk. I screamed hellfire, jerking my leg away and running as fast as my legs could take me. I heard some commotion close behind me, followed by a loud bang, which I interpreted as my assailant giving chase after me. Before I knew it, I was descending the three flights of stairs and rushing out the doors past the startled night guard. The freezing air prickled my skin through my thin sweater as I approached a nearby pedestrian for help. They called 911, and the police were at the office space within the hour. As I awaited with the guard for their arrival, I kept thinking of Sierra’s written warnings, and how stupid I had been to dismiss them. - check every aisle, meeting room. don’t forget to check under desks, balcony, kitchen tables, behind cooler The police quickly took down my account of events and, leaving me in the care of a young officer, went upstairs to inspect the office. There had been no one coming or going from the building since I ran out, so it was possible that the culprit was still hiding out somewhere inside. The thought made me nauseous, and I shifted closer to my armed companion. Not long after the cops left us, the young officer’s radio crackled and several voices spoke one over the other, asking for backup and naming codes I couldn’t understand. Things escalated quickly from there. Instead of going home, I was taken to a police station and held in an interrogation room for hours before someone finally came to speak to me. I was tired, miserable, and confused at the way the events of the night were unfolding. I wanted to go home but spent several more hours recounting my story to two detectives. ‘So, you had the knife with you when running from the kitchen to your desk? Are you sure?’ asked the older detective, who had introduced himself as Senior Investigator Barnshaw. ‘I... Yes,’ I stammered nervously. ‘I believe I did. I was panicking, so it’s hard to say. Then there was the pig toy,’ I said, losing my train of thought. ‘And you believe the person who was harassing you was Samuel Guilford?’ said the other detective, whose name I couldn’t remember. He wore no badge. ‘I don’t know his full name, but I can’t imagine anyone else is responsible.’ ‘And one more time, just for the record, what happened when you dialed 911?’ asked Barnshaw for the third time that night. ‘Someone grabbed my leg. My ankle, actually. This happened before I had the chance to explain the situation to the operator. I screamed and ran until I found a stranger outside who let me call for help,’ I responded, growing weary of the cyclical questioning. ‘Samuel Guilford was found lying dead not far from your desk when our officers came on the scene. Did you see his body when you were running out of the office?’ asked the other detective, feigning an air of innocence while dropping this bombshell. My jaw fell open, and I stared at the interrogators in naked shock and terror. ‘No,’ I croaked, ‘I don’t understand.’ ‘He was stabbed to death with a large kitchen knife. His body was covered in twenty-three stab wounds,’ Barnshaw explained. ‘And we found the knife wedged in his mouth, pinning him to the floor through his throat.’ ‘We have reason to suspect it was the knife you’ve described to us in your statement,’ added the second detective. I eyed both detectives mutely, straining to focus when my mind seemed to have lost all clarity. ‘Your story checks out for the most part. We found his phone riddled with amateur hacking apps,’ continued the senior detective. ‘We found several naked photographs of you and all the texts you’ve mentioned. He had a gun in his hand and we found the bullet he fired as you fled.’ ‘What we don’t understand is how he died,’ added the second detective, keenly gauging my reaction. ‘It’s okay if you killed him in self-defense, Gemma. The guy was a creep.’ ‘I didn’t,’ I stammered. ‘I swear, I had no idea... Oh, oh God,’ I cried out helplessly. ‘I mean, just a month ago a report was filed against him by another coworker,’ said Barnshaw. ‘Sierra,’ I murmured. ‘You knew Miss. Brooks?’ asked the second detective, suspicion flaring in his eyes. ‘No,’ I insisted. ‘I got her desk and her notebook. I should have mentioned it before. What did the report say?’ Barnshaw scrutinized my face before meeting his partner’s eye. Some sort of unspoken exchange took place before they decided to disclose the terrible things that had happened to Sierra. Things that had so nearly happened to me. Sierra Brooks had come straight to a nearby hospital from her first night shift three months ago. She was badly beaten and bruised, wanting to register an anonymous rape kit. The damage to her reproductive organs was severe, and she had to get stitches. She filed a police report two months later when she failed her probationary period at Proficient Technologies, losing her job (her only way to pay off her medical debt). It was her word against Sam Guilford’s, who had expensive legal counsel as well as countless coworkers to vouch for his respectable character. ‘It was just yesterday that Miss. Brooks came by to drop all charges against Samuel,’ said the younger detective. ‘We are currently attempting to track her down and bring her in for questioning. I’m sure you can see how your knowledge of her name gives us cause for concern.’ The police kept up their line of questioning until someone brought Barnshaw a note. Forensics had drawn up a report on the fingerprints found on the knife, as well as the blood-spatter patterns. I was asked to submit some DNA samples to aid the investigation and finally released to go home. At home, exhausted as I was, I couldn’t sleep. I had none of my belongings back. My handbag, phone, and even coat were all submitted as evidence. So I turned to my old trusty laptop, hoping that some aimless browsing could help soothe my nerves. My browser was still on LinkedIn from the day before, and I refreshed the page out of habit. A small red icon showed that I had a new message. Sierra had replied to me. Don’t worry, sis. I took care of it. <3 Category:Fanfic Category:Creepypasta